The Forever Christmas Tree

by Sandra Hill

  In her defense, Ethan was watching her, too. When his searching gaze would locate her across the room, he would either nod, or if he caught her watching him, wink at her. There was something hot and hungry in his scrutiny that made her feel hot and hungry, too. Once when he couldn’t see her—she was just coming from the library—panic appeared in his eyes for a moment. Did he think she was going slip away from the party without saying her goodbyes? Why would she do that? Or even worse, skip town, again, without letting him know?

  Wendy wasn’t the only one following Ethan’s progress, either. Women noticed him, and a few sidled up to him to get his attention.

  Laura, who was passing with a tray of hors d’oeuvres for the buffet table, must have been thinking the same thing. “Still hot stuff, isn’t he?”

  “Does he date? Have someone special?”

  “I have no idea. Whatever he does, he does off-island.”

  “I see you and Gabe are getting along well,” Wendy remarked.

  “I love his house,” Laura said, gazing about the huge drawing room that easily accommodated the fifty or so people standing around sipping at stemmed glasses of wine, or munching on finger foods. The wallpaper and drapes and upholstery were faded and worn, but shabby chic in the soft lighting beside the beautifully decorated trees, probably the result of Laura’s tasteful help.

  “Yeah, but a house is still just a house, albeit a big one like this. What about the man?”

  Laura’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “I like him just fine.”

  “Poor Tony!” Wendy said.

  “Hah! Have you noticed ‘poor Tony’ putting the moves on your friend?”

  Wendy smiled, following Laura’s gaze over to the window seat alcove where Tony was sitting next to Diane. They were conversing enthusiastically on some subject, probably the bear Grizz had once killed and how one would serve bear meat in an Italian restaurant. Or maybe they weren’t talking about that at all, Wendy mused, noting Tony’s hand on Diane’s knee, which was exposed by the short black sheath she’d bought that day in Monique’s Boutique, a dress that would serve double duty at her cousin’s upcoming wedding.

  Laura took her goodies to the buffet table, then went over to join Gabe who was being hustled by Ethan and her SEAL friends regarding the treasure-hunting venture. Apparently, they’d come up with some crazy idea of saving Bell Forge by combining it with the Jinx company, whose name would be changed to Bell Forge Ventures. How the two would share one building was beyond Wendy, and she really had nothing to do with it; so, she circulated among the partygoers, many of whom she’d known all her life.

  Ina Rogers, the longtime secretary at Our Lady by the Sea, was sitting in a wing back chair near the fireplace, a walker propped next to her. “Hello, sweetheart. It’s good to see you back in Bell Cove.”

  Wendy hunkered down so that they were face to face. “You look just the same, Mrs. Rogers, except for that.” She didn’t mean her orangish skin color, although that was different, but, instead, pointed at the walker. “Anything serious?”

  “Well, as serious as a double knee replacement can be. I’ll be good as new in a few weeks.”

  “Are you still working at the rectory?”

  “Absolutely. I keep telling Father Brad that I’ll be there till the day I die. Which will save my family on funeral expenses. They can just bring the casket to the church, say a mass over my body, and cart me to the cemetery.” She laughed at her own morbid joke.

  “Father Brad? A new priest?”

  “Honey, there have been eight priests assigned here since I was first hired as church secretary forty years ago. I like your friend, by the way.”

  “Which friend?”

  “The Mendozo fella. He’s come in to talk to Father Brad a few times. Seems they both went to the same seminary at one time.”

  “Really?” This was news to Wendy. She knew that the guys and Diane had been exploring the town a lot, usually on their twice-daily jogging runs, but this was the first she’d heard that JAM was visiting the church, other than the day the guys had arrived in town.

  “Yes. I believe he’s going to serve as deacon at Midnight Mass to replace Deacon Frank O’Malley, temporarily, as he goes to visit his daughter, Maura, in Miami. Maura just gave birth to twin boys.”

  Wow! Wendy thought. Not about the twins, but the fact that JAM was going to be a deacon, or that he was able to do so. Who knew? Yes, he had supposedly been in a seminary at one time, but she had no idea he kept up with the religious stuff. The public would love to learn about a Navy SEAL warrior with a spiritual side, but it would never happen.

  Next, she talked with Francine Henderson, owner of Styles & Smiles, the local beauty salon. Francine was the daughter of Mayor Doreen Ferguson and wife of Sheriff Bill Henderson. Wendy had known both Francine and Bill in high school.

  “Love your hair,” Francine remarked, flicking the ends which she’d spritzed up this evening. “You should come in for a conditioning treatment. On the house.”

  “Thanks.” Not a chance! Not with the orangish tan you and Ina and a dozen other women in this room are sporting. “Do you and Bill have any children?” Wendy asked.

  “Two girls, eight and ten. How about you? Married? Kids?”

  “No and no! Too busy!” I can’t believe I tossed that cliché out there.

  Francine leaned in closer and whispered, “I know you’re in the Navy, but rumor is that you’re one of those female SEALs. You can tell me.”

  Wendy issued a fake laugh and said, “I love rumors. I always learn the most interesting things about myself.”

  Francine blinked, not sure if Wendy was ridiculing her or agreeing that she was indeed in the WEALS. She smiled uncertainly.

  Meanwhile a trio of high school students, two violinists and a flutist, continued to play soft chamber music. During a break, Claudette Deveraux, one of Aunt Mil’s guests, sat down at the baby grand piano and, with an ease born of hours at the keyboard, began to play Christmas songs. No one minded that the piano was slightly out of tune, and in fact some gathered around to sing carols, including all the seniors. It was lovely, really.

  “Wow! She’s awesome,” Wendy observed to Aunt Mildred. “Did you know she could play like that?”

  Her aunt shook her head. “I had no idea. Claudette is pretty much a mystery, but she’s coming out of her shell lately. When she first came to us, she was very quiet. And very sad about something.”

  Hmmm. Maybe she should ask Delphine, her other roommate, to check up on her while she was home in New Orleans. Too bad Delphine couldn’t make it here after all! On the other hand, maybe that would be an invasion of privacy, not just to Claudette, but to her aunt, as well.

  “It is so good to have you here, Wendy,” her aunt said, a little tearfully, as she put an arm around her waist and squeezed. “I won’t ask you to come home permanently, if you’re happy in California, but I hope you’ll come more often.”

  “I will, Aunt Mil. I promise.”

  From there, she spoke with Abe Bernstein from The Deli and complimented him on the Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives segment about his store. “Are you still making your famous Reubens?”

  “I am, I am. And hoping to sell a ton of them over this holiday weekend with all the tourists coming in for the grinch nonsense.”

  “You don’t approve of the grinch contest.”

  “Oy vey! I didn’t mean to sound disapproving. Yes, it is a bit meshuggeneh, but in a good way. What do you think about my adding lox and bagels and cream cheese on Sunday morning?”

  “Uh . . .”

  “We don’t have a huge Jewish population in Bell Cove, but perhaps the tourists would expect such things in a deli?”

  “Or you could have your non-Jewish customers try something new,” she offered. “Besides, the combination of bagels and cream cheese and lox is probably Americanized by now.”

  “You’re right. Good to talk with you, Wendy. Drop by the store, and I’ll give you something to nosh on, free, of c
ourse.”

  She’d run into Doreen Ferguson, the mayor, at her Happy Feet Emporium, where she’d bought her silver high heels this afternoon.

  Doreen looked down at them now and smiled. “They’re perfect with that outfit. What do you think of mine?” The mayor did a little twirl to show off her Christmas Tree dress.

  And that was the only way to describe it. A Christmas tree adorned the whole front of the white dress, from the star at its top which pressed against her neckline, down between her breasts, spreading out in an ever-widening vee till it reached the calf-length hemline. The same was true of the back of the dress. Oh, and the trees were decorated with red and yellow lights.

  “Very Christmassy!” Wendy observed. Just then, she noticed someone she knew well, or had known well, across the room, and she excused herself from Doreen.

  Matthew Holter, Ethan’s best friend in high school, had just come in and was listening to the carolers next to the piano. He was wearing a camel-hair jacket in a herringbone pattern over dark slacks with a white shirt and tie. Other than a slightly receding hairline, he looked pretty much the same as he had twelve years ago. Tall, wiry thin, overly serious. Sort of a good-looking geek.

  “Matt! It’s been way too long!” She went up and hugged him warmly.

  “Ah, Wendy! Back at last!” He hugged her back, then held her away from him. “Whoa! Someone’s out to break a heart tonight.”

  “What? You don’t like my outfit?”

  “Are you kidding? Every male in the room must have stood at attention when you walked in.”

  She laughed. “So, I hear you’re a lawyer now. Married? A family?”

  “Yes, I’m a lawyer. Was married but divorced three years ago. No kids, thank God! How about you?”

  “Well, you probably know I’m in the Navy and a lot more, thanks to Laura’s big mouth. I’ve never married or had any kids. Someday, maybe.”

  “But no one ‘on deck’ at the moment?”

  “Nope.” She smiled. “It’s so good to see you.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, then said, “He’s never gotten over you.”

  “Oh, Matt!” This was a subject she wasn’t prepared to discuss. “He got over me a long time ago. He married, has a child, a whole new satisfying life.”

  “Yeah, right.” Matt took a glass of wine off the tray being passed around by a hired waiter. “Have you seen that damn tree lately?”

  “What?” She was suddenly alarmed. Matt couldn’t be referring to . . . oh, no!

  “Just go look someday, that’s all I’m saying.” He squeezed her arm, and anything further he might have been going to say was forestalled by Diane coming up to them. Apparently, Tony had been called away to his restaurant for some kitchen emergency.

  “Matt, I’d like you to meet my friend, Diane Gomulka from Oregon. Her nickname is Grizz because she’s been known to shoot a bear or two. Diane, this is Matthew Holter, an old friend of mine. A lawyer.”

  Matt’s eyes widened, taking in Diane’s trim figure in the figure-hugging black sheath with the killer black strappy stilettos, and Diane wasn’t unhappy with what she saw either.

  As Wendy walked away, she heard Matt say, “The only bear I’ve ever come in contact with is a stuffed bear when I was a kid. Winnie the Pooh.”

  “My favorite,” Diane cooed.

  Wendy was feeling rather pleased with herself as she leaned back against the wall, alone for the moment, just staring around at all the familiar faces, and realized that she was enjoying herself. It really was good to be home. Peaceful.

  But then Ethan walked up to her, leaned against the wall next to her and said, “Come home with me.”

  Wendy turned her head, inch by inch, without moving her body, to look at him. He was staring straight ahead, not even looking at her, but she noticed a tenseness in his jaw. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Exactly what I said. My grandmother is out of town until tomorrow, and Cassie is at a sleepover.”

  Her heart was hammering so hard in her chest, she could swear there was an echo in her ears. But, no, that was the town clocks in the distance chiming the hour. Only ten o’clock.

  Ethan turned then, and the blue, blue gaze stabbed her with its hunger. “I want to make love to you, Wendy. Come home with me.”

  “But . . . oh, Ethan, that would be such a bad idea. We live coasts apart. The past needs to be buried, not dug up again. So many things—”

  He put a fingertip to her mouth to halt her further words. “No words. No what ifs and why nots. No thinking about the past or the future. Now. This hour. This day. Tonight.” He moved his fingertip to trace the scar from her ear to the center of her collarbone and had to see the pulse jump in her neck.

  “Come home with me,” he urged again.

  She sighed and said, “Yes.”

  Chapter 15

  Memories are made of this . . .

  Ethan was wound tighter than a two-dollar watch. In fact, it was an indication of how tense he was that he would even think such a cliché. His biggest fear was that he would touch Wendy, or she would touch him, and he would uncoil with shocking speed, Slinky-style, resulting in his jumping her bones on the spot . . . inside his Lexus, against the passenger door, over the trunk, against the mailbox at the end of his lane, against the back door of the house, on the porch swing, straddling a kitchen chair, on the floor.

  Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic! She’ll think I’m as needy as a teenager with raging testosterone.

  More clichés!

  His game plan, if you could call it that, was to not think, to tune out any niggling thoughts about what an insane, bound-to-fail, fucked-up idea it was to imagine that they could have sex and then just walk away, no feelings hurt, no hearts broken. Teflon sex, some people called it. In and out. Nothing sticks. Yeah, right!

  As a result, Ethan didn’t speak at all on the ride back to his house, but he did hold Wendy’s hand on the seat between them. She didn’t speak, either. He hoped it wasn’t because she was having regrets already.

  “Everything looks the same,” she remarked when they walked toward the house. He’d left the kitchen light on, which shone out over the back porch.

  “It pretty much is, except for a second bathroom and a few odd renovations. Nana likes it to stay the same as it was a hundred years ago when it was a small farm, the only one at this end of the Outer Banks.”

  Harvey was barking up a storm, welcoming him home and somehow sensing a new person to sniff up. As soon as Ethan opened the door, the dog was on his hind legs, paws on Wendy’s shoulders, trying to lick her face.

  Wendy was laughing and trying to avert her face. “And who is this handsome fellow?”

  He grabbed Harvey by his collar and yanked him away. “This ‘handsome fellow’ is Harvey the Bad Boy who knows better than to slobber and shed dog fur all over our guests.”

  She continued to laugh as he settled a woeful-looking Harvey on his dog blanket near the door, wagging his forefinger in warning. As a second thought, he tossed him a rawhide bone to keep him in place.

  “Where are Bonnie and Clyde?”

  “Long gone over the Rainbow Bridge,” he replied. “We just have Harv now, and two cats.” He pointed to the two felines who were sprawled out on an old-fashioned cupboard on the other side of the kitchen, not interested enough to come down to greet him, or any newcomer, to the house. “And a bunch of rabbits out back that can’t stop multiplying. Don’t suppose you want a pet rabbit . . . or five?”

  He took off his jacket and hung it over a chair, followed by his tie.

  Are her lips parted because she’s as breathless as I am?

  She watched closely as he unbuttoned one, then two buttons on his shirt.

  Yes, she’s definitely breathing hard, and her eyes are kind of glazed. Too much wine at the party? No, she’s high on me. He smiled at his wishful thinking.

  But then, she smiled back.

  Ethan did a mental fist pump in the air.

&nb
sp; No words. By unspoken agreement, they would not speak. Not yet. If they did, the spell might be broken.

  But it was time they got this show on the road if they wanted the main event to take place on a bed and not here on the kitchen table. He held out a hand for her to come with him.

  They made it only as far as the hall before he had to kiss her.

  Just once, he told himself.

  Okay, twice.

  Maybe up against the wall.

  Oh, hell! Oh, damn! Oh, heaven and hell! He succumbed to an unending kiss, with teeth and tongue and wetness, and memories, memories, memories. Her lips became pliant and equally demanding.

  Oh, I remember this.

  And this.

  But this is new.

  Somehow the rest of his shirt had gotten unbuttoned and pulled out of his waistband, and her hands were on his bare chest and around his back. Caressing. Relearning old parts. Discovering new ones.

  Yes! Touch me there.

  Harder.

  You remember that spot? You do! Oh, perfect!

  He unzipped the back of her jumpsuit down to her butt and had it off and puddled at her feet. Like magic.

  Leaning back, he looked at her. A nude-colored lace bra and bikini panties.

  “Beautiful. Still beautiful after all these years,” he murmured, admiring her slim, well-toned body. The same, but fuller in some places, tighter and more muscled in others.

  But it could only be a quick scrutiny because her hands were busy, unbuckling his belt, unzipping his slacks, and pushing both his pants and briefs down to his knees in one sweep.

  She stepped out of her garment and spread her legs, still in high heels. “Now!” she demanded, leaning against the wall, eyes closed, neck arched, exposing the long scar, which was somehow erotic, against all that creamy skin.

  “Condom,” he cautioned, about to lean down and take one out of his wallet.

  She pulled him back up and said, “Implant. I’m safe.”